


Flood

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But Mostly Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, May Parker is the best, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Peter Parker jolted awake, stomach clenching and writhing, for the third time in three days. The cold light of early morning filtered through his blinds, casting everything in soft grey. No matter his efforts, the sun always woke him in the morning, streaming through his curtains like a river. His eyes felt dry and cracked, his hair was greasy, and malodorous stench hung in the air of his room, so strong he could almost see it.This was what his life had been like since the death of Tony Stark.





	Flood

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Long time no see I guess. I'm back at it again with some more Spiderman angst because I can. Please DON'T read any farther if you haven't watched Endgame. Thanks!
> 
> Also, please remember to leave kudos and comment if you enjoy this!

Peter Parker jolted awake, stomach clenching and writhing, for the third time in three days. The cold light of early morning filtered through his blinds, casting everything in soft grey. No matter his efforts, the sun always woke him in the morning, streaming through his curtains like a river. His eyes felt dry and cracked, his hair was greasy, and malodorous stench hung in the air of his room, so strong he could almost see it.

 

This was what his life had been like since the death of Tony Stark. 

 

Peter’s alarm blared seconds, or minutes maybe, after he awoke, forcing him up out of bed to stop it. He knew he couldn’t afford to miss another day of school, with exams rapidly approaching, but the concept of facing his rivals, and more importantly, friends, sent a cold bolt of fear down his spine and left his fingers tingling. The adrenaline was a familiar feeling. 

 

The continuous ringing of the alarm forced Peter into action, so he stood up and walked across the room, a little dizzy from dehydration. His stomach was starting to settle, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. Since May forced him to eat so he wouldn’t “waste away into nothing”, his stomach was almost always in pain. It seemed to rebel at even the thought of food. Peter knew he should shower but he also knew that he would be spending another day on the roof of what used to be Stark Tower observing the city, so it wasn't worth it.

 

May thought he was at school. That was probably for the best, he thought.

 

If it hadn’t been for him, Mr. Stark wouldn’t have even helped the other Avengers, he thought. It was his fault he was dead. Dr. Banner had brought him aside after the battle with Thanos and told him the story of how they got the Infinity Stones. It was supposed to make him feel better about the death of his mentor. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t.   

 

Peter shrugged the same blue t-shirt he had worn yesterday over his shoulders, a familiar sense of claustrophobia enveloping him for the brief time it passed over his head, obscuring his vision. He quickly changed pants too, favoring a mostly-clean pair of khakis that May had bought for him. They were a bit short, just skimming the tops of his ankles, but where he was going, there was no one to care about how well his clothing fit. 

 

He ran a hand through his hair. It had grown out a bit, and it lay over his forehead. He decided it was presentable enough and gently pushed the door open. May stood in the kitchen, by the stove, and stirred a pot of something that smelled weirdly unintelligible. 

 

“Hi, honey!” She yelled across the house.

 

“Good morning, May.” He responded, voice oddly strained from lack of use. His tone was flat and emotionless. 

 

“I’m making some chicken soup for dinner tonight. So I didn’t have time to make a good breakfast. What do you want? I have strawberries, bananas, I think there’s some oatmeal left in the cabinet, and cereal of course….” She continued to speak but Peter wasn’t really listening. It was the same routine every morning. He would say that he wasn’t hungry, she would touch his forehead, just to ensure he didn’t have a fever, and when she deemed that he was properly healthy, she would guilt him into eating breakfast. 

 

“Cereal is fine.” He muttered, walking the remaining distance so he sat at the table across from the kitchen.

 

“Mmkay.” She chirped and began pouring him a bowl of cereal, limbs a flurry of motion. In his opinion, May didn’t get the credit she deserved. He knew he didn’t treat her as well as he should for all that she did for him. She cooked and cleaned and cared for him when no one else would or could, and even now when he was ungrateful and mean and wrapped in grief so heavy he thought he would never escape, she made him cereal. And chicken soup. 

 

Peter took the bowl and spoon from her when she offered it to him, and ate quickly, downing just enough to make it look like he ate a lot. 

 

“Bye May, I don’t want to be late for school,” He shouted behind him as he dropped the bowl in the sink and grabbed his backpack by the door. The normal hefty weight of his textbooks was replaced with his computer, a few sticks of gum, and of course, the Spiderman suit. Peter wasn’t much of a Spiderman anymore but that didn’t stop him from bringing it with him. Mr. Stark had built it for him, after all. 

 

May shouted something he didn’t quite here, and he dashed out the door, locking it behind him. He needed to make sure that it looked like his normal morning routine of sleeping just long enough that he had to rush to make it to the bus on time. In reality, he had been awake for almost two and a half hours, since just before five AM. This wasn’t a normal morning. Nothing had been normal since Tony died.

 

The day progressed like the last few had. He found a building near his house and darted into the ally next to it. With his backpack still weighing on him, he climbed up, relying almost completely on foot and hand holds in the bricks instead of his powers. Then, he ran towards the Queensboro Bridge, jumping from building to building with practiced grace. He was confident that no one would care enough to challenge the high schooler jumping from building to building.

 

He repeated the same routine once he got to the other side of the bridge until he got to the behemoth of a building where Stark Industries (and the Avengers) used to reside. He jumped from one of the adjacent buildings, aiming for a place on the side of the tower where he knew cameras didn’t record. With arms and legs sore from his weight, Peter quickly climbed, shivering a bit as the cold wind blew across his back. He spent the day on the top of Stark Tower. When he first came here a few days ago, he had found a spot where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed and connected to the building’s accessible wifi. He did the same today. He wasted the day, researching Tony Stark’s life and legacy and playing various games until he knew it was safe to return home. 

 

Going back to his apartment took a little longer because he was already tired, but he didn’t mind. Running from building to building was the only respite he got from the guilt that plagued him. Tony’s ghost couldn’t catch him as he ran. This was his sanctuary, his world, an open expanse of freedom where the pressing claustrophobia of his life couldn’t affect him.

 

It was respite, release, and freedom beyond what he could explain. 

 

And as he dropped down to the ground in the same alley as that morning, he felt tears streak his cheeks. Before he could stop himself, he crumpled to the ground, overwhelmed by a powerful stream of emotions. He knew he couldn’t escape them this time.

 

After a long time, he stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. Most of the tears on his face had dried, and he didn’t bother to wipe the rest off. He opened the door to their apartment without the same sense of urgency as he had that morning. May sat on the sofa, staring out the window.

 

“I got a call from your school today.” She said. A bolt of fear ran through Peter’s body.

 

“Yeah?” He responded.

 

“Sit down. I’m gonna get you some soup, and you’re gonna eat it. And we’re gonna talk. And you’re not gonna lie to me anymore, right?” 

 

“Yeah.” He said again. He didn’t want to have this conversation but he was too drained to argue. He dropped his backpack by the door and went to sit on the sofa. May returned a minute or two after, holding a large bowl and spoon.

 

“Be careful not to spill. Now. Would you like to tell me why you haven’t been to school for the last few days? I thought we agreed that a week was enough time for you to recuperate after getting back from the hospital.”

 

“It wasn’t.” He replied coldly. May looked surprised. She never knew him to be cold.

 

“Well… You could’ve told me that.” She said, gently reaching out to brush his cheek. Peter suddenly felt like crying again, and he knew that once the tears started, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

 

“I can’t…. I can’t explain this. I don’t even know how to feel this. May, please, please. I need your help.”

 

A knot formed in his throat as he spoke.

 

“What do you need from me, Peter. Please, anything.” She sat down next to him.

 

“I need more time. Just. Two more days please.” She nodded gently.

 

“Can I hug you?” She asked. Peter nodded and placed the bowl on the coffee table so he could hug her back. She wrapped her arms around his body and squeezed gently. He placed his head on her shoulder and began crying again. They stayed like that for a long time. He forced himself to stay present, to feel the sorrow and loss and regret and guilt that had been building up behind his eyes for days. For weeks. 

 

After a time, they parted and May looked at Peter, eyes soft with compassion so profound that he could barely look at her. 

 

“Let me help you clean your room. Please. It’s making the whole house smell bad.” He laughed at the relative absurdity of her request, and she laughed too, and he felt another tear leak from his eye. And everything felt okay.

 

The next morning, Peter awoke to the sound a pan clatter to the floor and a muffled curse instead of the same flood of grey light. And he knew everything would be okay.


End file.
